


Busboy

by takethembystorm



Series: Treat Me Like a Princess [3]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Menstruation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 05:04:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7300654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethembystorm/pseuds/takethembystorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A continuation of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6199078"><i>Feminine Products</i></a>.</p><p>Let it never be said that Chat Noir wasn’t going to be there for a friend in need.  And Marinette versus her cycle definitely counts as both “friend” and “in need”.</p><p>If this goes on for much longer, though, he might as well add “busboy” to his resume next to “teen model” and “superhero”.</p><p>For the full experience, it is recommended that you first read the original oneshot that started it all <a href="http://clairelutra.tumblr.com/post/135436286530/with-mighty-apologies-to-miraculer-caprette">here</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Busboy

**Author's Note:**

> A story of [clairelutra](http://clairelutra.tumblr.com/)’s and [caprette](http://caprette.tumblr.com/)’s Treat Me Like a Princess universe.
> 
> Inspired by [this](http://frostedpuffs.tumblr.com/post/144657359555/frostedpuffs-going-out-at-1230-am-for-mcdonalds) post by [frostedpuffs](http://frostedpuffs.tumblr.com/), also known as the author of Truthful Scars (which is awesome and y’all should go read it).

Chat knocks out “shave and a haircut” on Marinette’s skylight before he opens it and sticks his head through.  “Don’t shoot,” he says as Marinette lifts her head and glares blearily at him.  “I bring gifts.”

“Ugh,” Marinette groans in drawn-out reply as she slumps back down.  He takes that as an invitation and hops down, rummaging through the messenger bag at his hip as he descends the staircase.

“Brought _Lilo and Stitch_ and another couple pints of ice cream—sorry it’s not Berthillon’s, father’s starting to get suspicious—but hey, managed to smuggle in a brick of chocolate.”

Marinette snatches the head-sized candy bar from his hand the instant it clears the bag, and an instant later has the wrapper off and a sizeable chunk of it jammed in her mouth.

“Cuddles,” she orders after a few seconds of chewing.  “Now.”

Chat rolls his eyes at her, but curls up behind her on the chaise lounge and pulls her close as she takes another chomp out of the bar, his chest rumbling in a deep, soothing purr.  Marinette relaxes into the vibration and the warmth of him.  With the hand not otherwise occupied with keeping the chocolate bar within optimal eating distance of her mouth, she adjusts the heat pack slung around her waist.

“The ice cream, Princess?” Chat reminds her quietly after a minute.  “It’s melting.”

“Didn’t tell you to stop purring, Chat,” Marinette says crossly.  She takes another bite out of the bar.

“How demanding my Princess is,” Chat says with a quiet chuckle.  “But it won’t stop it melting.”

“I’ll stash it in the freezer,” Marinette says, popping the last fragment of chocolate into her mouth.  She slumps back against Chat and lets the chocolate melt into a velvety-sweet puddle on her tongue.

“That’s going to be rather difficult if you insist that I remain like this,” Chat says, a mite dryly.  “Unless you expect me to carry you downstairs, at which point your parents would probably attempt to kill me and lock you away in some tower somewhere where I might never see you again.”

“Should’ve gone with Drama Queen as your superhero name instead of Chat Noir,” Marinette says.  “Would’ve been a lot more accurate.”

“Princess,” Chat says.  “You wound—“

“Oh, shut up,” Marinette grumbles, but her heart isn’t really in the rebuke.  “That stopped being funny after the first half-dozen times.”

Chat, as answer, rests his chin on her shoulder.  She reaches up and scratches him behind an ear, and his purr redoubles.

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll make you carry me like that everywhere I go,” Marinette says.  “Look, I’ll handle the ice cream.  You, meanwhile, will be picking up a little something for me.”

“So soon,” Chat says.  “I’ve only been here what, two minutes?  Three?  You’re going to send your loyal knight out again into the cold and the dark, to brave what horrors might be hiding in the mist—”

“Oh, stop whining.”  Marinette clears her throat noisily and points at her skylight with a hint of dramatic flair.

“Oh boy,” Chat says.

“Your quest, Sir Knight,” Marinette says, railroading over him, “is to go get me McDonalds.”

Chat stares at her as she waits expectantly.

“It’s gone midnight,” he says.

Marinette shrugs.  “So?  Twenty-four hour McDonalds are a thing.  Can you get me a meal?  I want fries.”

“It’s gone _midnight_ ,” Chat repeats.  “What on earth do you want McDonalds for?”

“Because.”

“Princess.”

Marinette rolls her eyes at him and flicks him in the bell.  “My uterus wants animal products and fried potatoes.  At the moment, I am beholden to my uterus, and you are beholden to me.  So go get me McDonalds.”

“As you wish, Princess,” Chat says, inclining his head forwards in a little bow.

“Damn skippy ‘as I wish’,” Marinette says as Chat slides off the lounge and slinks up her staircase.  “Also, can you get me a Happy Meal?  I want the toy.”

Chat twitches an ear in acknowledgment as he hauls himself onto her terrace and leaps away.

At least he’d remembered to bring cash this time.

* * *

He hears the whispering and the quiet _click-clicks_ of phone cameras as he taps out an impatient rhythm with a boot, his receipt tucked away in a pocket.

“You sure that’s not some cosplayer?” he hears someone ask.  His ears twitch towards the speaker and his tail lashes the air, once.

“You ever seen any costume do that?” someone replies.  A camera _clicks_.  “That’s gotta be him.  ‘sides, some guy saw him jump down from the building across the road, no way he’s not Chat Noir.”

“Parkour is a thing.”

“From three stories up?”

“Duh.”

“You’ve been playing too much _Assassin’s Creed_ , dude.”

_Tap tap tap tap._

He hears a camera _click_ very near by him and a flash of light in his peripheral vision.  “So going on Facebook,” someone mutters excitedly.  “Selfies in Hawaii, hah!  I’ll see you and raise you one selfie with Chat Noir.”

“Dude!” he hears, the word a scolding hiss.

“What?”

“Rude.  You didn’t even ask him.”

“It’s quite all right,” Chat says, turning around and shooting the suddenly dumbstruck pair a winning grin.

“So, uh,” one of them says a beat later.  “Why are you here?”

Chat shrugs.  “Even a superhero’s got to eat,” he says.

“Uh, O-Order 13!”

“Speaking of which.”  He brings his first two fingers up to his brow in a mock salute.  “Have a good evening.”

“Uh, thanks,” the other one says.  “Y-You too."

He hears them break out into excited chattering as he collects his order—two Big Macs, an order of large fries, and a Happy Meal—and hops to the rooftops.

* * *

“Order up, Princess,” he says as he drops in.

“Took you long enough,” Marinette grumbles as she takes the bag from him.  “This is a lot more food than I asked for.”

“One of the Big Macs is mine,” Chat says.  “I figured that the way you looked you were probably going to cannibalize me if I didn’t offer up a sacrifice.”

Marinette narrows her eyes at him as she pulls the ketchup packets from the bag.  “Did you just make a crack about my weight?”

“I said nothing about your weight, Princess,” Chat says smoothly.  “Merely your eating habits.”

“Just for that, you’re not getting any fries,” she says.  “Where’s the receipt?”

“Lost it,” he says.

“Lost it the last three, four times, too.”

“Butterfingers, me.”

“You do know I could just look up their menu, right?” Marinette grumbles.  She takes a bite from her burger and chews.

“You could,” Chat says.  He picks up a napkin, reaches over, and wipes some sauce from the corner of her mouth.  She rolls her eyes at him and takes another bite.  “But then you’d need to get me to accept your compensation.”

“Could just knock you out and stuff it in your pockets,” Marinette says.

“No, you wouldn’t,” Chat says, grinning widely as he takes his burger and unwraps it.  “That wouldn’t be ladylike, _Princess_.”

She jostles him with a foot, and his grin turns into a chortle.

* * *

Alya is beside herself, of course.

“He got a selfie,” she growls.  “Some punk university student got a _selfie_ with Chat Noir!”

“When and where?” Marinette says.

“A McDonald’s,” Alya says.  “Don’t know which one in particular.  It was at like, one this morning.”

Marinette makes a mental note to not tell Alya that Chat had also been at her place, curled up against her side, at around half after one.

Alya brightens somewhat.  “Hey, at least we know this now,” she says.  “Superhero he may be, but gourmand he is not.”

Adrien and Marinette twitch a little.


End file.
